Another Poem from Dave – with a chess theme

Flashback to My Father

Sunday, on a winter's afternoon -- it's quiet but for
a brush of rain across our peaked iron roof.
We both hold pewter tankards of cold beer,
bitter, brown, surmounted with a crown of froth,
perfect with a cold beef sausage
yielding nicely to the teeth
and a crunch of pickled onions, crisply sour.

We bend across the home-made chessboard –
remember, Dad, how you burnt the lines
to make the squares? The smoking iron
went past the spot a couple of times,
the wood stain's less than even
but it's a modest work of art
in imperfection.

No idle conversation here, because the board's
awash with blood. My handcarved knight,
weighted at the base with lead
that gleams through well-worn felt,
leaps swiftly at your black-clad force,
its head held high and ears pricked back –

The beast strikes with a deadly fork.
Undone at once, you frown, then smile and say
"it's true, my son -- there really can be humour
in this game." We set the pieces up once more
and recommence our play.

You can't pick up the pieces now –
the board's long gone, the pieces scattered
like your ashes –

And yet I'll still enjoy our afternoons
until my game is done.

© David Nourse 2014